


My Blood Speaks For Me

by friedgalaxies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Picking, Self-Harm, Skin picking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friedgalaxies/pseuds/friedgalaxies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equius can't contain it anymore. It's screaming. Singing. He wants to set it free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Blood Speaks For Me

You’re doing it again. Plucking. Pulling. Stretching. Scratching. Grating. 

Rubbing the tenderness of it raw till its scratchy and hollow, imperfect, so rough beneath the pads of your fingers, tender under the subtle twitch of your claws. 

You want to rip it all off. Make yourself clean. New. Fresh. 

You relish in the pain. It feels… good. Perfect. Whole. 

You’ve never felt as good as when you’re tearing off strips of your own grey skin, letting it fall and flutter to the metal strewn ground. 

The wriggler-fresh flesh is tinted dark, royal blue. You want to be that color all the time. 

All. The. Time. 

It’s perfect. That buzzing that sings beneath your skin, battling against the confines of it, yearning to be set free. You can set it free. Pull, stretch, rip, sting. Pull, stretch, rip, sting. Pull, stretch, rip- 

The stinging is too strong now. It hurts. You have never gone this far before. Never. 

You love it. 

There’s a ringing downstairs. She’s here. You can’t let her see. You’re supposed to be strong, perfect, the one to protect her. The one to lean on. She’ll never trust you if you’re weak. She’ll never trust you again. 

Aurthor answers the door. You hear her greet him. Start pounding up the stairs. She’s humming, calling your name, sing-song and happy. Angelic. Perfect. She can’t see you like this. She could never see you like this. 

You stand, a smear of royal blue on your chair. Dripping behind you. It’s so beautiful. You love it. It’s so perfect. Why not let her see? Why not why not why not why- 

“Equius?” 

She sounds so disappointed. You aren’t perfect anymore. She’s going to leave you. The bussing beneath your skin is stronger now. Stronger than you are. You want to let it free. Let it free let it free let it f- 

She’s too close now. You’ll hurt her. Smear royal blue on her perfect olive green. She’s too close. Way too close. You might hurt her. She’s too close, don’t let her get so close, no, get away get away get away- 

Your think pan hurts. It’s not the beautiful, buzzing kind of hurt that sings beneath your skin. You reach to pick at the same spot by your thumb, where you always pick. Your wrist snaps back down. It hurts. All of you hurts. 

The lights are too bright. Too bright too bright too br- 

“Equius?” 

It’s her again. You can’t let her touch you. Your blood will stop stinging if she does. 

“Equius, are you awake?” There’s concern in her voice. “Why would you do this?” 

Your mouth feels dry. Too dry. It’s devoid of perfect royal blue. You feel so heavy. So weak. You can’t be weak. You’re imperfect. 

“My blood is singing, Nepeta.” you croak. “It yearns to be set free.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love Equius, and I don't think someone that impassive could get through life without having some sort of self-harming implications. He's too perfect to not hate himself in some way, you know?


End file.
